


Return

by gowerstreet



Series: The world which hides at the corner of your sight [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Post Reichenbach, Saint Watson of the tired eyes, Some people have never really grown up, Tolerance and patience are the intelligent sides of affection, Vulnerable Sherlock, healing is hard work for some people, platonic friendship, watching the dust settle at 221b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/pseuds/gowerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”Remember what was agreed. You are to follow the discharge guidelines to the letter, or you are to be re-admitted forthwith.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t.” The eyes swivelled towards him. John’s stare was calm and clear.<br/>“Try me.”</p><p>The first night back together in 221b was always going to be a challenge for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The six-foot  five-year-old

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a few hours after the final chapter of 'A Flash of Gold Amongst the Grey', but it just about stands on its own paws.

“Ten minutes, Sherlock.”

A plaintive voice rose from the sofa. “It’s barely half-past eight.”

John looked up from his paper, the image of wearied calm. ”Remember what was agreed. You are to follow the discharge guidelines to the letter, or you are to be re-admitted forthwith.”

“You wouldn’t.” The eyes swivelled towards him. John’s stare was calm and clear.

“Try me.” His voice was a touch of steel wrapped in velvet. ”You are not going to disrupt the healing process, and if that means rehospitalisation and restrictive rest, so be it. It’s your choice.”

“Hmph.” There would have been a corresponding slump and flounce but even Sherlock couldn’t persuade his repairing tissues to comply.

“It’s for your own good. Listen, it’s a relocation, not an exile. More about getting you to rest so that I can set up the overnight drip.”

“But it’s boring in there.” He was back to sharing a flat with a six-foot five-year-old. A deep breath was taken and someone remembered the golden art of patience. “Sherlock, you’ll have everything in there. Your laptop, the television, even your violin. What else might you need?” John might have dreaded what could have come next, but the actual response stilled him.

“You.” Not plaintive, or whining. Just honest, and perhaps a little afraid.

John folded the paper with extreme care and took a deep breath. “I’m going to be going precisely nowhere. This is our home. We both live here. That means I’ve got all the time in the world to make sure you sleep and recover.”

 _I lost you once; I’ll not lose you again_.

There was a whoosh of silk and the delicate thump of bare feet against rug. "Some cocoa would be nice,” admitted the patient.

John agreed. “OK, but go sort yourself out. I need to set up that drip by nine at the latest. Shoo.”

Sherlock shot him a sideways glance. “Still not a child or an errant pet,” he hissed in mock annoyance.

 _You could have fooled me_.


	2. Not your teddy bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I told you before, cloth ears. I’m going nowhere, at least not tonight. Now get some sleep.”
> 
> “Not cloth ears,” Sherlock grumbled. “Heard you the first time.”
> 
> The first night back at 221b continues.

Despite his protests, Sherlock drifted off quickly once comfortable. John watched his head nod until it sank over the laptop. The idiot would crick his neck if he slept like that.

“You’ll feel better lying down, “ he murmured to the dozing man. “Come on.” He set the laptop on the bedside cabinet. Sherlock’s lashes fluttered briefly as he was eased into a horizontal position.

“Don’t go,” mumbled a deep voice.

John grinned despite his exhaustion. ”I told you before, cloth ears. I’m going nowhere, at least not tonight. Now get some sleep.”

“Not cloth ears,” Sherlock grumbled. “Heard you the first time.”

“Hmm.” John settled back into the armchair and opened his book, but he was asleep himself before he reached the end of the page.

___

A subtle shift in the atmosphere woke him at some point after one. They were no longer alone.

John was out of the chair in an instant, the image of military stealth, albeit one wielding a trainer instead of a gun. Half a dozen cautious steps took him to the edge of the lounge door, which he didn’t remember leaving open. He glanced around the edges of the darkened room, scanning for alien objects. Nothing.

An arrhythmic pattern of clicks approached and a small, silkily dark shape twirled around his legs with a chirp. He knelt and let her butt his hand. “Where did you come from?” he whispered.

“She followed me in.” Agnes was leant against the sink in the darkened kitchen. “I take it all is well?”

John wrapped himself around her. “Yeah. The patient grumbled somewhat when hustled to bed at nine, but he went down. How come you’re up so late? Anything wrong?”

She pressed a kiss into his cheek. “Nothing to worry about. I just wanted to check in- it having been a big day and all.” A muffled thump from the bedroom made both of them jump. “Sounds like someone’s woken up...”

John dropped his arms reluctantly. “Just let me check on Sir Awkward. I’ll be back shortly.”

Sherlock was squirming and gasping in the bed when John found him. The glaring sightlessness of his dreaming eyes was unnerving as he floundered in the sheets. “Sherlock, it’s ok,” began John. ”You’re at Baker Street. Shh.” He sat on the bed and took a hold of a flailing hand. Sherlock’s fingers wrapped his wrist like a vine, searching for his pulse. John let him hold on, knowing that further words would be an irrelevance now. Instead, he focused on willing his own heart rate down to something more appropriate.

It worked. Sherlock sank back into the bed, exhausted. John put his free hand behind Sherlock’s shoulder and guided him down, who leaned back into him, more cat than human.

Agnes stood in the doorway. “Can I help?” she whispered.

“Help me sort these pillows. If he doesn’t wake up, he might sleep through till morning.”

They rearranged the bed between them, gently wrangling a dozing Sherlock into a better position. His hand never left John’s wrist, although the grip seemed less desperate now. “Looks like you’re stuck, love,” said Agnes.

“Any bright ideas?”

She grinned. “Sleep with him.”

“What?”

“Look, John the bed’s more than big enough. He isn’t going to let you go without another struggle, and you’re both bloody knackered. So hop up and crash out. And if His Nibs has a fit in the morning about personal space, I’ll put him right.”

His glare softened. “I’d rather be doing this with you.” His voice was almost mournful.

Agnes shrugged. “Likewise, but that can wait until we’ve got our consulting idiot back in working order. Or at least until we can distract him with a bunch of post-mortem reports and sneak off.” She leant over Sherlock’s legs and kissed John like it was going out of fashion. “Now lie down before you fall down. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Yes ma’am,” He joked, but did it anyway.

He barely registered the quilt that she spread over him a few minutes later, other than its scent of green tea and warm cat. Agnes curled herself into John’s armchair and snuggled under the blanket she’d snaffled from John’s room. The next best thing to a hug, she thought, and there’d be time for plenty more of those in the coming days.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the glorious resident writers and readers of the 221b group on Ravelry. I'm honoured to be in the company of such individuals.


End file.
